I grew up watching war films. Some of my earliest memories are of my father, who served two tours in Vietnam, taking me to the base theater on Subic Bay Naval Air Station in the Philippines to see movies like “The Great Escape,” “The Dirty Dozen,” and “Patton.” I was no more than eight or nine years old when I saw “Patton,” but that one indelible scene of George C. Scott delivering his larger-than-life speech in front of the American flag stirred me to the point where it was one of the things that influenced me to become an actor.

Since then I’ve watched more war films than I can name, I’ve acted in war films, and now I’m lucky enough to be hosting the Military Channel’s “An Officer and a Movie” airing a war film every Saturday night. So I hope I know what I’m talking about when, in honor of Veterans Day, I list here my most emotionally inspirational and thought provoking scenes in war films—for better and for worse. (Don't miss Men at War author Bob Drury's reader-driven list of the Best War Movie Ever.)

We’ll start off with “Saving Private Ryan,” a brilliant film all the way through, one of my favorites of all time. But the simplicity of the moment where the Tom Hanks character is dying and turns to Matt Damon’s “Private Ryan” and says, “Earn this,” makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end every time I see it. In those two words there was such emotional resonance and weight. It was the culmination of the ultimate sacrifice for the mission of saving Private Ryan.

For me that scene spoke to the honor, the duty, the bravery of all of our military personnel who, unlike in World War II, now volunteer to put themselves in harm’s way for us. And the responsibility that we as civilians, who benefit from their ultimate sacrifice, have to earn. The power of that scene is a testament to Hanks’ immense talent and ability to live that role. It transcends entertainment and it becomes a life experience for movie viewers. Yet no matter how great the actor, it all starts with the veracity of the writing. Good, simple writing. We wouldn’t have believed that scene if Hanks had made a speech instead of uttering those two words.

Which is not to say that every emotionally harrowing scene has to be Hemingway-esque in its brusqueness. I think Oliver Stone just nailed it with Tom Berenger’s bunker speech about death in “Platoon.” I was very young when I saw “Platoon,” and I still think that is one of the finest monologues ever committed to film. Berenger was brilliant, and he should have won the Oscar. Here was the platoon, smoking dope, drinking beer, and relaxing between missions, with Charlie Sheen’s newbie character still feeling his way around the group. And now comes Berenger with that battle-scarred body and face plopping down in the middle of them carrying a bottle of Jack and about to tell them some hard truths about combat.

In the space of that monologue Berenger retails to Sheen’s character the deep and true cost of war. “You think you know about death? Let me tell you about death.” Yes, it is cynical. Yes, it is jaded. But it is also just so sobering. So many war films stress the positive, almost Pollyanna-ish aspects of being a warrior. But Stone had lived the Vietnam War as a grunt. And that monologue is a distillation of the weariness and the horrible truth of combat. That’s something that a lot of us will never, ever understand, and Berenger’s dispassionate delivery of that speech gave me chills then, and continues to do so today.

I suppose that’s a good segue into talking about playing “the bad guy”—like Berenger’s character in Platoon—and still connecting emotionally with the audience. I am thinking specifically of the Col. Jessup character in “A Few Good Men.” I played that character on stage, and while I might not agree with Col. Jessup’s politics and twisted sense of honor and duty, I happen to agree with some of things in that amazing, “You can’t handle the truth” courtroom speech. “We live in a world with walls, and there are men with guns who stand on top of those walls.”

To be able to play that role, you have to adopt that persona, which is what makes Jack Nicholson’s scene so powerful in the film. And that’s true of any role you play, but particularly in war films, which tend to illustrate the big questions in our lives. Morality. Character. Integrity. Courage. Or, in some cases, the opposite. Or even a mix of both. So, if like Berenger and Nicholson, you are playing a “bad guy,” you still have to embrace the world view of the character with open eyes, an open heart, and an open mind. You cannot judge that character. If you hold Col. Jessup at arm’s length the audience won’t believe you. They’ll know you are acting. That’s exactly what Nicholson did in that speech. He embraced Col. Jessup. Which is what makes the scene so moving. Of course, it helps that a screenwriter like Aaron Sorkin can capture those emotions in dialogue.

On the other hand, one of the beauties of film is that sometimes no dialogue is needed to convey wracking emotion. Which brings me to an amazing, wordless scene—the final charge in the Civil War movie, “Glory.” Those soldiers, those black men, standing amid the sand dunes preparing to storm the confederate fort, and you know that it is not going to end well. Having fallen in love with those characters, having respected them, having been inspired by them through the course of the film, and now seeing that they know that they will not live but they have the courage to charge anyway, it just took my breath away. Their absolute bravery—reflected as they walk past the other white Union soldiers who know they are looking at dead men – is one of the most inspirational sequences in a war film than I can recall. It affected me deeply. I also think this sacrifice for the greater cause reflects a very American point of view. The sense that, from the birth of this nation, people have sacrificed for the greater good . . . it’s why that scene stays with me.

What the director and actors manage to accomplish in that wordless moment in “Glory” makes that moment resonate all the more, which leads me to one last scene that is just breathtaking—DeNiro’s “This is this” speech to John Cazale in “The Deer Hunter.” That scene evokes the simplicity of an absolute truth whether you understand it or not, as Cazale’s character Stanley obviously does not. Stanley merely forgot his boots, and wants to borrow a pair. But DeNiro is not talking about boots. He is using that bullet in his hand as a metaphor for a soldier’s life and death.

When he holds up that bullet and gives that menacing speech—“Stanley, see this. This is this. This ain’t something else. This is this. From now on, you’re on your own.”—he is saying that no one who has never been to war will ever understand what that means. Stanley doesn’t get this, but it is so powerful that we in the audience automatically understand it. This is a bullet. This can take your life. It comes down to one shot. This is this. I find it one of the most powerful pieces of dialogue in the history of film.

All that said, before I finish up I’d like to briefly take this in another direction and look at . . . well, let’s call it the flip side of what I’ve been talking about. For me, there are a few moments in war films that were just a solid punch in the gut in a negative kind of way. It’s not that these scenes were not well done. Actually, they were incredibly well done. But . . .

Let me go back to “Platoon,” for instance. That My Lai-like sequence in the village where the American soldiers rape the teenage girl Kevin Dillon’s character bashes in the head of the young mentally-handicapped Vietnamese boy. It just tore me up. I suppose Oliver Stone felt some responsibility to show the absolute horror and denigration of the human spirit that war can create. But that did not make that scene any easier to watch.

Along those lines (and if you’ll indulge me), a scene that still affects me greatly comes in the film “Courage Under Fire,” when my character Monfriez turns to his commanding officer and says of Meg Ryan’s character, “She’s dead.” But Monfriez and Matt Damon’s Ilario know that she was alive when they left her. In that moment—once again, two words – you see Monfriez’s desperation, his absolute commitment to the lie, to selling his soul to save his own ass. I look at that scene and say, “I don’t recognize that guy.” But what really completes the power of that moment is the shock, the fear, and the guilt Matt Damon’s face expresses without him saying a word.

You get the idea. Sometimes you don’t have to like a scene to appreciate its impact. Another perfect example comes from the little-known World War II movie “Hell In The Pacific.” There are only two actors in the entire film—Lee Marvin and Toshiro Mifune play an American soldier and a Japanese soldier stranded on a deserted island. They spend a good portion of the movie trying to kill each other until, toward the end of the film, they reach this understanding where they’ve grown to respect each other as warriors and as men of honor and duty. And just as viewers come to identify with these two former enemies, just as you’ve fallen in love with these characters and are expecting a feel-good ending, the damn island get’s shelled and they’re both blown up. That scene was so powerful that I couldn’t wrap my head around it for years.

Now let me come full circle, back to my childhood on the Subic Bay Naval Air Station and to a film I mentioned up top, “The Dirty Dozen.” I think I was even younger when I saw that film then I was when I saw “Patton,” and there were two scenes in that movie that showed me how emotionally potent film can be. One was Jim Brown dying. I mean, how the heck do you kill Jim Brown? I remember being in absolute tears that they could deign to kill a hero like that in a movie.

And the other scene was when Telly Savales kills the German woman in the castle. I guess I hadn’t really seen a lot of adult-themed movies, and I remember thinking, “Oh my God, how can they show that?” It was one of my first experiences with a movie psychopath. Suddenly, one of the heroes was not heroic. And that was a first in American war films. At least for me. But it was a dynamic, memorable scene, one that I’ll never forget.

Plus, Telly Savales made a great psychopath.

On November 16th Lou Diamond Phillips will receive the 2012 Humanitarian of the Year Award from The Millennium Momentum Foundation for his work with American veterans.

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